


Hamish

by dogandmonkeyshow



Series: Watson's Woes JWP 2017 fics [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 08:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11414466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogandmonkeyshow/pseuds/dogandmonkeyshow
Summary: Whoever had sent the note had exactly the same handwriting as him.





	Hamish

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Watson's Woes DW comm's July Writing Prompts daily challenge, prompt #5: _Note to self_.

John stared at the handwriting on the envelope; whoever had sent the note had exactly the same handwriting as him, which was weird.

The contents continued the theme:

> Hi Me,
> 
> I'm writing this note to you (me) in case something goes wrong this afternoon with Sherlock's lessons in memory deletion. So, just in case his aim (or would it be my aim?) is crap and I/we accidentally delete anything important, here's the most important basic facts of your life, John Watson.
> 
> Your name is John Hamish Watson and you were born September 10, 1973 in Wimbledon, West London. Your parents are Hazel Watson, a lovely doormat who died of breast cancer when you were 14 and Daniel Watson, a drunken sack of shite who never did a damned thing except make everyone in his life miserable. You have a sister two years older, Harriet, who is a lesbian and (entirely coincidentally) also a drunken sack of shite who's made everyone in her life miserable.
> 
> You're a doctor; you studied at Barts Hospital in London, then joined the army, where you served for nine years before before being invalided out by being shot in Afghanistan (you were serving in Afghanistan when you were shot; “Afghanistan” is not some weird medical euphemism). See left shoulder for distinctive 1.5 cm-wide starburst-shaped scar.
> 
> When you returned to London, a total mess, an old friend introduced you to the lunatic who's pretty much been running your life ever since, even when he was supposedly dead: Sherlock Holmes (he's the tall posh guy who, if you're still reading this, turned your brain into scrambled eggs on Thursday afternoon). Sherlock has an even more irritating older brother, Mycroft, and a a psychopathic mass-murdering younger sister who lives in Azkhaban (see collected works of JK Rowling hidden under bed of Holmes, S. if you've lost Azkhaban as well).
> 
> A few years ago the tall posh git faked his death in order to take down the criminal network of his arch-enemy (no, seriously, you know people with arch-enemies now); being a git (sub-species: posh) he didn't tell you his jumping off the roof of the hospital where you trained was faked (yeah, really, _right in front of you_ ) so you spent two years grieving and going through trauma counselling, and just when you'd turned your life around he jumped you while you were trying to propose to the women you loved.
> 
> You got married to the amazing Mary Morstan, who turned out to be a top-secret super agent on the run from people (she never did say who) that were supposedly trying to kill her. Posh git redeemed himself somewhat by killing the asshat who'd been trying to blackmail her, which pissed off Sherlock's even more supercilious older brother for some reason.
> 
> You and your secret superspy wife had an amazing little girl, Rosie (that kid you see rampaging around the flat: that's your kid), then Mary went and got herself killed saving the posh git's life. Then you saved posh git's life due to some sort of insane drug-fulled-suicide-attempt-as-therapy thing that your best friend had going on and then you ended up trapped in Azkhaban with the three Holmes kids playing a real version of a bad house of horrors, with lots of shitty sound effects and people getting shot.
> 
> Anyway, that's it! Well, the highlights anyway. Oh, and if the posh git managed to not turn your brains into scrambled eggs, burn this note on reading.
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> You (me)

John stared at the paper in his hands, flabbergasted.

“Hamish! Seriously? What the fuck were they thinking?”


End file.
